Monsters in the Closet
by you-idjits
Summary: Takes place a month after Dean shows up on Lisa's doorstep, a complete mess. He's suffering from PTSD, unable to deal with the pressures of a regular life. Dean's fought demons and angels. Hell, he's fought the devil himself. But when faced with a neighborhood barbeque? He nearly breaks into pieces. No pairing, tag to 5x22 Swan Song. T for language and angst.


**A/N: JFC, I write way too much Dean angst. But this character really intrigues me. So here, have some more.**

* * *

Dean's been staying with Lisa for a month when he attends his first neighborhood barbeque.

He's avoided it for so long because attending barbeques seems like the last straw in really giving up the hunter lifestyle. Once he's done this, he's done it all. Dean is a certified "regular guy" now.

It's a complete disaster.

He's practically been a hermit since he arrived in Cicero, spending most of his days in Lisa's basement. He met a few people at Lisa's request, but it's a big step between the couple next door and the whole damn neighborhood.

It's the noise that overwhelms him. Dean has spent a month recovering from his brother's death in a quiet house. Now he's surrounded by crazy kids running and tackling each other. Loud music blasts from a radio, and it's _not_ the kind of music he likes. He wants to smash the damn radio with a sledgehammer, but that probably wouldn't go over well with the neighbors.

Dammit, since when did he care what his neighbors thought?

Dean hates this. Absolutely hates it.

Men approach him and try to make small talk. Small talk!

Dean may not have loved his old life, but anything beats small talk with middle-aged men. A year ago, he would never have guessed he'd be at Lisa's side, flipping burgers and listening to some god-awful contemporary music.

It's suffocating. He can feel his lungs constricting with every moment out here, in the crowd. Too much happens at once. He sees the boys rolling around on the grass. He sees the frosted beers, droplets of melted water collecting at the base. He sees the women gossiping, the girl showing off a new engagement ring. He sees the teenage couple making out behind a bush. He sees everything, and he hates it.

He feels disoriented, completely out of place. He can't do this right now, he can't be here. Dean needs the Impala, safe and cool and familiar. He needs a gun in his hand. He needs Sammy, but Sam is deep underground getting his soul ripped to shreds and Dean is alone in a sea of people.

His breaths start getting shallower, and he spins in circles, looking for an escape. This isn't where he belongs. It feels wrong, so very wrong, and-

Then Lisa is beside him, rubbing comforting circles on his back. "Dean, whoa, relax. What do you need?"

"I- I-" He wipes a hand down his face. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. I'm so proud of you, Dean, putting yourself out here like this. You're doing wonderfully."

He shakes his head, eyes wide with fear.

A fire starts on the barbeque grill, easily controlled and quickly put out, but the sound of crackling fire remains in his ears. It sounds like Michael going up in flames, his brother Adam burning to nothingness, it sounds like Castiel throwing a glass bottle and it sounds like Lucifer in Sam's body snapping Bobby's neck, he can't do this, he can't be here.

Dean feels his knees go weak, but Lisa catches him.

"Let's get you home."

But Dean has a different definition of home. Instead of going towards Lisa's door, he stumbles to her garage, flips up the tarpaulin over his home, and crawls inside the backseat.

Lisa hesitates, leaning over the Impala's open window instead to watch him. "Dean? Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

He rolls over, slowly calming down. The leather is cool to his touch, and it acts as a fixed point for him, a lifeboat. He holds on to it, resurfaces from the sea of chaos, and takes a deep breath of air.

When he meets Lisa's eyes, she looks concerned, like a mother worried for her child.

"Lisa," he says weakly, "I can't do this anymore."

She puts her hand on the windowsill. "Dean, it's okay. You're going to be okay."

He wants to believe her. He wants so badly to believe her, but how can he go to _neighborhood barbeques_ when there are still demons out there to fight? Dean has to fight his demons, both internal and literal. He can't be here.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he mumbles. He can't keep his last promise to his brother.

Lisa, as if reading his thoughts, pulls open the door to the car and slides in beside him. She rests his feet on her lap. "Dean, come back out to the barbeque. We'll take things slower, I promise. I underestimated how hard this would be for you. But my father was a veteran from Vietnam, Dean. I know how to deal with PTSD."

Dean perks up at that. He would never have considered himself a war veteran. "But I don't-"

"Define it how you want, it all comes down to the same thing. You feel disoriented, out of place. You've never had a regular life before, and it's daunting. I get it."

"No, you don't." He doesn't mean to interrupt her, but now that he's started he can't stop. "Nobody here understands what I've been through. You all talk about house repairs and complain about the price of gas like it's such an inconvenience. You don't understand. I've had to spend _my last dollar_ repairing this car and getting enough gas to last through the night. This world, it isn't for me. Nobody will understand me here. I saved the fucking world, Lisa. I have a right to be a little messed up."

She takes a deep breath. "Of course you do. This isn't going to go away overnight. But the first step is trying to _help_ me understand. Try to connect with us 'regular people,' just try. Things will get easier over time. The grief and the memories will fade."

"I _am_ trying."

She helps him out of the car. He doesn't want to go back, but he knows she's right. He can't stay hidden in the Impala forever, wrapping old memories around his mind like blankets.

He may not be in love with Lisa, not like she wants. But he loves her like family. She's making an effort towards him, trying to help him. She gives him a bed to sleep in and a hand to hold. She catches him when his knees give out.

So he tries. He _really_ tries. As long as she's by his side, his breathing stays steady.

His mental breakdown went unnoticed. He slips back into the crowd with ease.

Lisa introduces him to some friends, a couple who lives down the street. The wife shops at the same grocery store as Lisa.

If only, Dean thinks, he could make new friends over the checkout line. But he's always made his friends over severed vampire heads and flaming corpses. He's always learned to trust people by how quickly they react to a wendigo.

Here in Cicero, Indiana, he has to take the supernatural out of the equation.

He asks what he hopes is a regular question of the husband: "So what do you do for a living?"

The guy, Ronald, says, "I'm a lawyer. You?"

Dean freezes, unsure of how to respond.

Lisa takes the reins. "Dean just got back from the army, actually. A real hero, he is."

It's no wendigo, but her reaction time to uncomfortable questions is pretty damn good.

"Really?" Ronald asks. "You're a vet? Good on you, mate!"

Dean smiles a weak smile.

"Where did you serve?"

It takes a moment for Dean to regain his wits. "Uh, home court, actually. Fighting terrorist threats and stuff. You know, pretty dull." It's only a white lie. Just taking the supernatural out of the equation.

Lisa bumps him playfully. "He's being modest. Dean's saved hundreds of lives."

"Do you miss it?" Ronald's wife, Kristen, asks.

"Do I- yeah. Yeah, I miss it." There, at least, he's being honest.

"I imagine coming back to this-" Ronald gestures around them, "-is pretty hard, then?"

Dean laughs bitterly. "Buddy, you don't know the half of it."

"Well, listen, if you ever want to come over for a beer, share old war stories, I'm all ears." Ronald smiles, shakes his hand, and goes to get a hamburger.

Once they're gone, Lisa turns to Dean. "See, was that so bad?"

"I guess not." He's lying to make her feel better. But she's right, it wasn't as bad as before. "I mean, those were partial truths."

"Exactly. Dean, you're a remarkable person. You're brave, you're funny, you're good."

Good? He's never been described that way before.

She continues, "Maybe you can't tell them all the details. But take out the supernatural, and there's still a story there. Listen, you may think your whole life is about fighting the monsters in the closet. But it's not. It's about _you_, Dean, about what you've done. You've saved people. And anybody, human or otherwise, can understand that. Just give us a chance."

Dean looks at this woman who trusts him with her life. She doesn't know the hairy details of his past. All she sees is a hero who's lost everything, and it's enough for her.

Maybe it can be enough for Dean, too.


End file.
